


Pretty Things

by atheldamn



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet, Dancer Grantaire, Established Relationship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheldamn/pseuds/atheldamn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting caught by your boyfriend in a skin-tight leotard and covered in sweat should be awkward. But this time, it's really not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Things

Grantaire held the position, breathing hard, his thigh muscles shaking, as he looked at himself in the mirror, checking his form. The studio was empty, everyone else long gone home, and he’d been left with the keys. Outside, night had already fallen, and the bright flourescent lights pulled all the colour from his skin, leaving him pallid, a stark contrast from the dark green of his leotard and dark brown of his hair. The silence was imposing, only cut by his own breathing.

The position still wasn’t right. He dropped to his heels and moved back to the corner, shaking his legs out, preparing to try the move again. He didn’t hear the front door banging down the corridor. With a few deep breaths, he calmed himself, and, counting in his head, he repeated the steps, moving quickly across the room before suddenly stopping, catching himself on just one foot and raising to his toes. A glance in the mirror told him that, this time, he had gotten it right, his body twisted elegantly and held in place with a strength that his body didn’t seem capable of when he wrapped it in oversize jumpers. That same glance also told him there was someone stood in the doorway.

He stumbled down onto both feet, turning, vaguely panicked. It could have been anyone stood there. Come to rob him, beat him, kill him. A million utterly terrible sequences played out in his mind before he realised who was standing there.

“Enjolras,” he sighed, pushing damp curls back through his hair and remembering how to breathe again, as Enjolras walked in. He dropped his bag by the door and was smiling as well, something hungry in his gaze. “Enjolras?”

“You are utterly beautiful when you dance,” Enjolras stated, and his tone told Grantaire there was absolutely no room for disagreement. Grantaire’s mouth went dry, his breathing quickening. “Your movements are filled with a fluidity I’d never expect when you’re drunk. I can see each of your muscles moving beneath that leotard.” As he spoke, he stalked closer, his hair yellow under the lighting and his painted-on jeans accentuating the sway of his slim hips. Images of a lion stalking a lone gazelle sprung into Grantaire’s mind, and he giggled like a damn idiot.

“What are you doing here?” asked Grantaire, licking his lips and tasting salt. He’d been dancing for hours without even realising it, and he’d worked up a sweat, muscles burning with exertion. Enjolras was still approaching; he took half a step back.

“I came to pick you up. Then I saw the light was on and you weren’t outside. Figured you were in here yourself. I came to watch.” Enjolras was smiling, hands pushed in his pockets. He looked every inch a cocky bastard. It was new, to say the least.

“Shit, what time is it?” Grantaire had entirely forgotten that Enjolras was going to pick him up and that they were spending the evening at his, and he felt guilty before Enjolras shook his head.

“It’s fine. This is much better than that film the others are going to see. I told Courfeyrac we weren’t coming already, when I was stood outside the door.”

“How long have you been there?” Grantaire asked, blushing lightly.

“Long enough to know that you are far more talented that you let us believe. You act as though your skill is something you picked up in passing, something you only indulge in as a hobby. You’re very good. I’ve seen professional dancers with less skill than you.” Now Grantaire was definitely blushing, and he folded his arms across his chest, grinning at the floor. He heard Enjolras approach, but didn’t lift his head, not until there were fingers beneath his chin, tilting his head up. “I am not angry that you forgot. Your dancing makes up for it. I’d like to see more.”

Grantaire met his eye and blinked, smiling. “Yeah. I can do that. Now?” Enjolras nodded, and pressed a kiss to his forehead before moving back to lean against the wall.

Grantaire, tried to ignore the fact that Enjolras was there, watching him. He’d danced in front of people before, from small groups to crowds of thousands. But it was entirely different to dance in front of his unbelievably hot boyfriend. Nerves bubbled up in his chest, and he closed his eyes, relaxing his shoulders and taking a few deep breaths before he began to move.

There was no music, but he didn’t need any, and neither did Enjolras. He didn’t perform anything too difficult, or anything that the other may recognise, for fear of making a mistake that would send him sprawling. Enjolras might not be a professional dancer, but Grantaire still would rather show him something he had perfected and could perform in his sleep, than try and impress him with complicated moves he could not yet make look easy.

He was tired, but his body still moved strongly, his balance perfect, every move flowing easily into the next, and he didn’t realise he was grinning until he met Enjolras’ eye and saw him smiling back. The sight made his confidence soar. His small, impressed smile was better than a standing ovation, and he danced until he ached and he forced himself to come to a stop, pirouetting five times before catching himself and swooping into a bow.

He’d expected applause, or a comment, or some sort of acknowledgement. What he hadn’t expected was silence. After a few seconds, he stood, a worried frown on his face. But Enjolras was there, in front of him, grabbing his face and kissing him roughly. The angle was wrong, he almost missed Grantaire’s lips entirely, such was his eagerness, and Grantaire was too surprised by the sudden kiss to react instantly.

In the few months of their relationship, Enjolras hadn’t been the type of partner to hold back on affection. In public, he tended to be reserved, but Grantaire was alright with that. In private, though, he was cuddly, and often initiated kisses. They were soft and needy and dirty and tender, all in different amounts, but never had he been kissed quite so desperately. Grantaire turned his head and their lips matched up; Enjolras whined. It was a noise that almost had him on his knees already, but instead, he slid his arms around the other’s waist and slowed the kiss, refined it until he could no longer breathe.

He tore his lips away from the other’s, leaning back when he tried to chase him forwards, and laughed breathlessly. “Let me catch my breath, Apollo,” he sighed, pushing long blond hair back from his face and letting his fingers curl in. Enjolras pouted.

“You are entirely beautiful, Grantaire,” he sighed lovingly, and Grantaire shrugged shyly. “No, you are. I know you might not believe me, but you are. You claim to be a cynic, but you dedicate yourself so entirely to that which you are interested in. And that dedication makes you beautiful. Also, this lycra leotard is incredible.” Enjolras smirked and, as if to prove his point, he ran his hands down Grantaire’s chest, grabbing him by the hips and pulling him in. Grantaire’s self-deprecating train of thought derailed pretty quickly as he pressed against the other, and instead of trying to remember what it was he was panicking about, he kissed Enjolras, walking him backwards until his back hit the mirror.

The words he had spoken had emboldened Grantaire in other ways, just as his smile had made him want to dance harder in search of his approval. Now, he felt as though he had his approval, and though he wondered whether it was unhealthy, it was that that made him press Enjolras to the glass, trapping him between his arms as he pressed his lips into his neck and sucked. Words of politics and argument came easily to him, but words of love were less forthcoming. He had to show how he felt somehow.

Enjolras’ soft moan was amplified in the large, empty room of glass and wood, but he didn’t want to quiet him. He wanted to hear every noise he could drag from him. His lips worked to paint Enjolras’ neck with a purple mark that would stay for days, a blotch Grantaire would catch as he shuffled blearily to the kitchen for coffee, or shouted at injustice from down below, and would know that he was his. The noises he made were just for Grantaire, and he would savour each one.

“R… God, I want you…”

“You have all of me,” Grantaire mumbled against his skin, hands slipping between them to slide beneath Enjolras’ clothes and up over soft skin. The man was flawless, save for a few freckles, like he was indeed carved from marble, but he was soft and warm and pliant beneath his fingers, so very human, not at all cold or hard or unattainable as he had once let himself believe. 

Hands ran, in return, up Grantaire’s back, fingers parallel to lines of muscle still aching from exercise. A shiver ran through him, and Grantaire kissed his way back up to Enjolras’ lips, catching them with his own. He kissed him slowly, tongue just catching his lips, a hand rising to rest on Enjolras’ neck as he rocked his hips against him. Even that small thrust was a fluid motion, his stomach working to make it a ripple, rather than a stab, and it had them both gasping against each other’s lips.

The hands at the top of his back tugged at his leotard, and Grantaire worked to quickly pulls his arms out of the sleeves. Enjolras pulled it down to his waist, and his hands ran back over his bare skin. His teeth caught Grantaire’s lip, sucking it between his own lips, and he could feel him grinning at the breathy moan it pulled from Grantaire. In retaliation, he ran his thumb over a nipple, teasing it, reveling in the gasp it produced.

Kissing was soon not enough, and they were both breathless as hands tugged at clothing. Thoughts of being caught were not on anyone’s minds. It was Grantaire who got his hands on Enjolras first, slipping into his boxers. His hand wrapped around him and he stroked him slowly, unable to move much, but Enjolras stopped where his hands were pulling the leotard over his hips, his face open and expressive and clearly full of pleasure. His eyes were half-closed as he looked down at Grantaire, a high flush coloured his cheekbones, and his lips were parted and pink. He looked debauched already, and Grantaire just looked at him for a moment before Enjolras bit his lip and whined, rolling his cock into Grantaire’s hand.

It snapped him from his reverie, and he withdrew his hand, pulling Enjolras’ jeans down to his thighs, and his own leotard and tights down as well. The room was cool, and while he’d been hot dancing earlier, the sweat was now chilling his skin, pulling goosebumps from him and making him even more eager to be touching Enjolras. He curled a hand into his hair as he pressed back against him, thrusting upwards slowly and gasping at the friction of them both running over each other. Grantaire’s other hand slipped between them, curling round the two of them, and Enjolras instantly thrust hard up into his grip. The moan it pulled from him was almost animalistic, but there was too much friction, and Grantaire growled angrily.

“My bag…” Enjolras gasped, and Grantaire looked up at him, confused, a frown deepening the almost constant furrow between his brows. “In my bag, there’s lubricant, I hope that’s not too pres-” He didn’t get a chance to finish, because Grantaire kissed him, hard and quick. Enjolras’ blushes were spared by the fact that Grantaire practically sprinted over to the bag and fished out the tube with a big grin on his face. 

“Not too presumptuous. Not at all. I’m sure you didn’t plan for me to fuck you against the mirror, after all.” At Enjolras’ look of surprise, Grantaire shook his head, grinning widely, and he slid his hand into Enjolras’ hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m not going to fuck you. That’ll be later. Too much work to clean it up here.” As he spoke, he squeezed a generous amount into his palm, before capping and dropping the bottle. He pressed his lips against Enjolras’ jaw as he slid his hand over them both, spreading the fluid, before once again, gripping them both. This time, there was no resistance to movement, and he rolled his hips up, watching Enjolras’ reaction.

The other dropped his head back against the mirror and bucked up, trying to quiet a moan by biting his lip. It failed to worked, and Grantaire smiled, repeating the motion, slipping his free hand into Enjolras’ hair. Soft curls were mercilessly pulled on, and Enjolras’ head tipped to the side instantly, his mouth falling silently open. Like this, he was beautiful, vulnerable and pink and exposed entirely for him. A surge of arousal shot through his body and pooled in his cock, causing him to roll harder against him, and both moaned louder again.

Their bodies soon moved in rhythm with each other, and Grantaire knew they wouldn’t last. The threat of getting caught, in a brightly-lit room with enormous windows, heightened everything, made the air seem to fizz with tension, and the sounds of their moans filled their ears. Enjolras’ hands dragged over his back, and he arched into the touches, gasping when nails scratched him. 

Grantaire could feel himself getting closer and closer, and by the way Enjolras’ hands were gripping him, his breath stuttering in his chest, he was getting close too. He pressed his lips to Enjolras’ neck, tasting salt on his skin, but he was powerless to do anything but just pant against him, unable to even concentrate on kissing him. His moans raised in pitch as Enjolras reached down, lacing his fingers between Grantaire’s.

“Come on… I want you to… Come for me, R…” And just a few words from Enjolras were enough to send him crashing over the edge, tensing against him and then relaxing with a sigh of Enjolras’ name against his skin. Come covered his hand, and it took him a few seconds to realise Enjolras was coming as well, wordless noises falling from usually eloquent lips. Grantaire kept moving their hands over them as they came, stroking them until he was twitching with oversensitivity and Enjolras was whimpering against his hairline.

They remained stood there for a few peaceful moments, Grantaire’s ears ringing, Enjolras’ heaving breaths blowing through his damp hair. Eventually, Grantaire lifted his head, pressing a kiss to Enjolras’ temple before stepping away a little.

“That was ridiculous,” he huffed, laughing. Enjolras chuckled with him, leaning against the mirror, and he looked an absolute sight. His hair was standing on end in places, his cheeks and neck were pink and bruised, his t-shirt was stained with their ejaculate, and his jeans were still open, exposing his cock. Grantaire couldn’t help but quietly moan at the vision before him, and Enjolras blushed deeper, standing up and re-dressing what little he’d managed to undo.

“We missed the film entirely,” Enjolras replied, though he didn’t sound too angry about it. Grantaire pulled his leotard back up to his waist, and decided just to put his hoody on, instead of trying to wriggle back into the damn thing.

“I’m sure I’ll survive. Now we can go home, you can cook something fancy and vegan-” Enjolras rolled his eyes and moved away from the mirror, “and, instead of sex in a dance studio, I can hold you to the mattress and fuck you until you beg.” Grantaire cupped Enjolras’ jaw in his, and pressed a tender kiss to his lips, which the other sighed into, touching his hands to his arms.

“I never beg,” Enjolras pouted.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://switchferre.tumblr.com), and I would love to know what you think. I haven't published anything in this fandom before, so concrit is more than welcome.
> 
> Thankyou so much!


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